


turn that soul loose

by myeyesarenotblue



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sparrow Academy (Umbrella Academy), Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post Season 2, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Time Travel, no beta we die like ben, well this is lila visiting baby diego <3, you ever thought about lila visiting baby diego?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myeyesarenotblue/pseuds/myeyesarenotblue
Summary: This Diego isn't hers.It’s him, though.“My mum just died,” Lila blurts.Diego freezes, his eyebrows go up to his forehead. “Oh,” he says, awkwardly, “Shit, that’s, uh- I'm sorry. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves/Lila Pitts
Comments: 38
Kudos: 194





	turn that soul loose

**Author's Note:**

> lila is my daughter and i love her :)

Lila takes the briefcase and runs. 

She doesn’t even bother checking where it’s set to go, she just- 

_Goes._

Blue light engulfs her and she suddenly finds herself in the middle of- something, low lights, a stage, women in long dresses and men in chamises, loud music playing all around. No one even notices her, too busy having the goddamned time of their lives, their drunken laughter too loud, too oppressive. 

And she just- 

She looks down, fumbles with the briefcase’s dials and almost drops it in the process, and she- 

She’s not really sure why, not really sure what even is going through her mind, and all she knows is she wants to _run, run, run_ , go away, _run_ \- 

She sets it for October 1rst, 1989. 

Then she’s- 

In a house. 

A bedroom. 

There’s a baby, on the bed. 

It’s too small, it’s little face wrinkled and round. There are a thousand pillows surrounding him so it won’t roll over and fall to its death, and- 

Lila feels her grasp on the briefcase loosen, all of the sudden, crumble, and she lets it fall down to the floor with a dull _thud_ , echoing in her ears, and then- and then she’s _crying_ , out of all things, a hitched sob torn out from her throat. 

The baby is not her. 

She thinks she could never, in a million years, ever face her family, her first few years, knowing how horribly it all ends. 

The baby is Diego. 

She can hear hushed whispers, angry, snippets of a conversation taking place somewhere else in the house. His family, probably, the biological one. 

_(“¿Qué carajos vamos a hacer con ese maldito niño?”)_

She remembers, idly, reading the Umbrella Academy’s case file. 

They were all sold, Diego and his siblings. 

None of them had what Lila had. 

None of them grew up loved and warm, with a mother and a father, and the unshakable knowledge, true, steady, _comforting_ , that they were always going to have that, _always_ going to wake up and be peppered with kisses and hugs and laughter. 

None of them grew up like that just to have it all torn from them. 

The baby gurgles, flaps its little hands around. 

Lila- 

Doesn't lift it up, because babies have always made her a little nervous, so small, so fragile, but she does reach for it, runs a finger over its cheek until one of its hands ends up clutching hers. 

It’s Diego, she reminds herself. 

It’s Diego. 

“Hey,” she tells him, softly, careful not to make too much noise his family will realize she’s there. “You’re an asshole, did you know that?” 

Diego, predictably, doesn’t reply. 

Lila lets go of him, wipes at her eyes and swallows the lump in her throat. She feels so stupid, talking to a goddamned _new born_ \- 

She wants to hate him, for no good reason other than it would make everything easier, make the tangled mess of emotions in her chest a little less confusing, a little less painful, but she just- 

Doesn’t. 

Or maybe she does, but she loves him more than she hates him. 

The hushed voices turn into something louder, angrier, and then there’s- a heavy noise, like something being dropped or maybe even thrown, and then _Diego_ breaks into tears, and- 

And then there’s shouting- 

_(“¡Ya lo despertaste, carajo!”)_

And footsteps coming her way, and- 

Lila grabs the briefcase, slides the dial a couple years forward and goes. 

* 

She’s running after Diego, she realizes, and she really doesn’t know what to make of it. 

It’s not like she has _somewhere_ to go, but- 

But suddenly she’s in a cramped little bedroom, a different one, this time, and there’s a boy in front of her, about five or so, dark hair, dark eyes, and he’s wearing pajamas, lifting his little head up from a mess of pillows and blankets, rubbing at his eyes, looking at her with a worried frown on his face. 

“Who are you?” he asks, sweetly, innocently, _obliviously_. 

Lila looks at him. 

Did she look that small, when the Handler slaughtered her family in front of her? 

She musters up a smile, as reassuring as she can manage it. “Who do you think I am?” 

Diego squints, tilts his head, thinks long and hard about it. “Are you a new na- n-nanny?” he finally asks, and she doesn’t miss the way his voice cracks, a little stammer. 

And that’s _adorable_ , isn’t? 

He never told her he used to have a stammer. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, nodding, relaxing into the role, the cover. 

But then Diego- 

His eyes turn big and wide and wet, and his lip sputters and trembles, and he- “But what about Mom?” he shrieks, horrified all of the sudden, “Where is she?” 

And Lila- 

She doesn’t really understand it, at first, because she read that file and she knows for a fact Sir Reginald Hargreeves never married, at least not while he took care of the children, and so Diego _shouldn’t_ have grown up with a mother, but- 

But- 

She read that file. 

There was a short clause, somewhere in page three. 

An android. Modeled after that one scientist, that Grace chick that was actually involved in some other cases Lila was around for. 

And she sighs, swallows that stubborn lump in her throat that just won’t go away all over again. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, sitting down in his bed, next to him, “She’s fine, I promise. Your mum’s not going anywhere.” 

Diego doesn’t look very convinced. 

There’s a cut on his temple, starting to heal around the edges. 

It looks deep. 

“Then why are you here?” Diego throws her way. 

“I don’t know,” Lila breathes. 

She doesn’t. 

She really wishes she did, but she doesn’t. 

“That’s stupid,” Diego announces unceremoniously, crossing his little arms over his chest with all the grace only a child can manage. “Grownups are stupid.” 

And Lila laughs, because- 

That? That right there? Feels familiar, and comforting in ways she just can’t explain. That’s Diego, all the way. 

“Yeah, totally,” she agrees, feeling a little lighter. 

She finds it a little too endearing that Diego’s just always been like that, angry at the world, determined to let anyone who’ll listen know. 

Life hasn’t changed him. 

_(-or maybe it already has, at this age, just like Lila knew herself when she was barely five years old that there was a before and there was an after, that she had to prove her worth, that her Mum’s love was conditional-)_

The bedroom’s door snaps open forcefully. 

Sir Reginald Hargreeves stares at her. 

She scrambles to stand up, to face him, and she- she stands in front of Diego without really thinking about it, some primal instinct to protect him taking over. 

Hargreeves doesn’t take his eyes off her. “Number Two,” he barks, and Lila flinches, “Please neutralize the threat.” 

And- 

“What the hell?” Lila blurts, feeling sick and nauseous and maybe even a little afraid, “He’s- he’s a kid!” she shrieks, “He’s just a kid! He’s not your guard dog!” 

“Number Two,” Hargreeves repeats, expectant. 

And Diego stands up, his movements stiff and ungraceful, clumsy, and his little hands are rushing to the bedside, knocking everything on their way, and then he’s grabbing a case, and he’s opening it, and it’s full of- 

Knives. 

The five-year-old sleeps with knives on his bedside. 

(But didn’t she, also? 

The first gift the Handler ever gave her was a bright pink custom glock with a magazine extension and little white flowers painted all over the barrel.) 

Diego- 

Diego knocks the case over. 

The knives go flying, clattering all over the floor with the loudest noise, and then he’s sucking in a terrified little breath, looking over at his father with _fear_ in his eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” he blurts, desperately, dropping to his knees to pick them up. 

“Number Two!” Hargreeves hisses, and Lila _knows_ that expression, knows it like the back of her hand because that’s the expression the Handler would wear whenever she wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough, or smart enough, and- 

Diego’s breath turns hitched, full of desperation. _“I’m so-s-sorry, I’m-”_

“You’re a disappointment, Number Two,” Hargreeves informs him, just because he can, and then he turns to Lila, to deal with her himself, and Lila- 

She grabs the briefcase and runs. 

* 

She lands out in the open this time, late at night. 

A quick glance at the briefcase informs her she’s in the year 2000. Which- not the best year, all things considered, but not too bad either. She can’t actually remember if she’s been before. 

There’s a diner or something right in front of her and she makes a beeline for it, orders a single cup of coffee and curls up in a squeaky booth. 

“Rough night?” the waitress asks, filling her cup. 

Lila smiles, grimaces. “You’ve got no idea.” 

She receives sympathetic little nod in return, and then she’s alone. 

Or- 

As alone as she can be, with random people sitting in random chairs all around her. The place’s not too crowded, but still- it's a little difficult to have a mental breakdown in peace when she knows people can see her. 

It’s not even a diner, she notes. 

It’s a donuts place. 

She’s never been to a donuts place before, ever, and she can’t even enjoy the experience properly because she’s too busy replaying the past few minutes in her mind, Diego, a _child_ , scared out of his mind, not of her, a random stranger who broke into his home, but of his own goddamned _father_. 

She tries to tell herself she was _never_ scared of her Mum, but- 

Was she? 

She thinks she was. 

Then she tries to tell herself maybe it was just at the beginning, when she was a little kid, fresh out of an apple pie life, overwhelmed by all the strange talk about time travel and combat training, but- 

But that’s not really it, either, is it? 

She takes a gulp out her coffee, then another, even though it scalds her tongue. 

Then she puts the cup down, rests her forehead on her palms and pulls roughly at her hair, feeling more than she knows how to manage and wanting it all to stop. 

The front doors swing open, and Lila doesn’t really look up, just takes stock how many sets of footsteps she can hear, how difficult it would be to take them out- but then voices fill the air, cutting through the silence, and she realizes it’s just a bunch of children bickering among themselves. 

And it would be normal, okay, even, it would be normal if it weren’t for- 

_“Shut up, Two!”_

There he is. 

Diego. 

Lila thinks she could actually recognize him this time around even if she didn’t know where and when she was. He’s older, now. Looks more like himself. 

That’s not to say he _doesn’t_ look like a child, because he _absolutely_ does. 

It’s a little strange, to see him looking like that, and the rest of them all, too, his siblings. 

They’re all there. 

Even the dead one. 

Even Number Five. 

And she- 

She feels a pang of something, when she looks at Five, because- 

He _is_ the one who killed her parents, isn’t he? 

It makes her skin crawl, makes her want to walk up to him, grab a butter knife from the counter and _slit_ his throat with it, make it slow, make it last, make it _hurt_ \- 

He is the one who killed her parents and for that she wants him to _suffer_ , to _pay_ \- 

She almost does it. 

Almost. 

The one and only reason she doesn’t gut him like a fish right there and then is because even though he looks exactly the same as she remembers him from twenty minutes ago, he’s- 

He’s not that person. 

He’s a kid, just like Diego, just like the other children. 

That whole shoot first ask questions later thing the Commission has going on has never quite sat right with her. Why should people pay for crimes they haven’t committed yet? 

That, and- 

It wasn’t him, not really. 

He was following orders. 

_Her own mother’s orders._

She’s- 

Not done processing that whole thing just yet. 

She pushes her coffee away from her, doesn’t scream through sheer force of will. 

Diego and his siblings walk up to the counter, _bickering, bickering, bickering_ , and they start listing off all the donuts that they want, _strawberry this, chocolate that, three milkshakes, no, make that four, do you happen to sell any iced tea-? No-? What about soda?_

Lila watches them. 

Then- “Who has the money?” 

Silence. 

Lila watches them. 

“Seriously?” Five whines, and- 

And she doesn’t know why it surprises her but it does, when his shoulder’s drop, and when he makes a show out of rolling his eyes but she can see his lip quivers, his whole demeanor shifts drastically, like maybe, like _maybe_ forgetting their donut money is the goddamned worst thing that’s ever happened to him in his entire lifetime _(-maybe it is, in this point in time)._

Then the rest of the kids start groaning and moaning, too, brokenhearted. 

_“Who was supposed to bring it?”_

_“I thought Klaus had it-”_

_“What-? Don’t look at me! Diego said-”_

_“No, I thought Luther-”_

_“Why would I have it?”_

They make a fun little scene, the waitress watching them with a hesitant frown on her face, the rest of the people, eating, drinking, turning to watch them, too. 

Lila gets up, walks up to them, her heart in her throat. 

She slaps a twenty in the counter. And it’s- from 1963, and it looks new and unused, but- 

Hopefully the waitress won’t notice. 

“I’ve got it,” she tells the children, tells Diego, mostly, unwilling to face them all. 

He hesitates. 

They all do, really. 

She figures Hargreeves didn’t raise them not to be wary of strangers. 

Finally, it’s Allison, the one that speaks up. “Why?” 

Lila tried to kill her, not too long ago. Made it so that she couldn’t breathe. 

Diego would’ve never forgiven her. 

She smiles, probably not that reassuringly. “Why not?” 

And- 

God, they’re not stupid, they’re _not_ stupid and they can see right through her, can see how she knows something they don’t, how there’s more than a _why not_ to her actions. 

They sort of- shift, stand straighter, ready for anything, and Lila does too, waiting for something she doesn’t want to happen to happen. 

But then- 

Then there’s a horrible _shriek_ , a scream that sounds like someone’s being butchered, cut into a thousand tiny pieces and then some- 

And she _flinches_ \- 

Turns towards it, almost _drops_ the briefcase- 

And there’s a gutted thing just standing there, a person, nearly undistinguishable, covered in red, its intestines hanging loose from its stomach, a mess of blood and guts- 

And- 

And it’s a _horrible_ sight, and it’s _wrong_ , and- 

And it takes Lila an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize no one else is really reacting to it, to its disturbing garbling noises. 

No one but Klaus Hargreeves. 

The kid flinches away from the noise, from the sight, just as much as she does. 

She realizes, idly, detachedly, that she must have sucked in his powers without conscious thought. It’s happened before, whenever she’s been in close proximity to a powered individual, particularly stressed or straight up scared. 

It’s never resulted in her ears being assaulted by a gruesome ghost, but- 

There’s a first time for everything. 

She searches for the spark of his powers in herself, takes a hold of it and pushes it as far away as she possibly can. But- 

But the damage’s done, already. 

The kids are staring at her like she’s crazy, and Klaus is- 

Looking between her, and the spot the ghost was standing in, a bewildered look on his face. 

“Just-” Lila starts, awkwardly. “Just take the money, okay? Eat ‘til you puke.” 

And she leaves. 

Or tries to, anyway. 

She makes it out of the doors and couple steps into the street when she hears the doors opening and closing and even though she hurries her step it’s no time at all before there’s hand on her elbow, holding her still. 

“Wait-” 

It’s Klaus. 

She turns to face him. “What?” 

“Did you-” he blurts, but then he gets shy all of the sudden, “Were you-?” 

“What?” 

Klaus lowers his voice into a low hiss. “Did you see the ghost?” 

She did. 

She absolutely did. 

And it’s mind-blowing, the thought that this kid right here can’t really turn the ghosts on and off at will, that he’s lived his entire life engulfed in those chilling shrieks. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, voice firm. 

“Oh,” Klaus breathes, disappointed, “I thought-” and he laughs, humorless, shaking his head, “I don’t know what I thought, sorry.” 

She shrugs. 

He lets go of her arm, goes to step away, but- 

But somewhere along the way he ends up looking down, embarrassed, perhaps, after blabbering about ghosts to a stranger, and he- “Is that blood?” he blurts, horrified. 

Lila looks down, too. 

She almost doesn’t see it, red on red over her boots. But it’s there. 

A light splatter on her feet, on her shins, and- 

And she was fighting Diego and his siblings, yes, but she didn’t actually _cut_ any of them at any point, she threw shoves and punches, kicks, she played dirty, but she didn’t _cut_ any of them- 

The only person who bled on that barn was her mother. 

“Oh, god,” she gasps, taking a step back, as if she could somehow run away from the blood staining her clothes, the blood that screams- _Lookie here! Look! Your mother is dead and she ain’t ever coming back!_

And then she feels sick to her stomach for _feeling sick_ , for hating the blood, for having the horrible realization that that’s it! 

That’s it! 

She’s never going to see her Mum ever again. 

And she shouldn’t- 

She wasn’t even her Mum. She was a random woman who saw something in her and decided to exploit it, a random woman who murdered her parents and took her away from what should have been her life. 

She shouldn’t loathe the blood on her shoes. 

She shouldn’t feel soaring pain, electrifying, shouldn’t want her mother back. 

“Are you okay?” Klaus asks, his eyes wide and afraid. 

Lila- 

Lila runs. 

She runs, and she runs, and she runs, ignores Klaus calling after her, and she runs and she ducks into a random alleyway and she twists the briefcase’s dials and then she’s gone. 

* 

She ends up in another place, another street, and she doesn’t bother to check where and when the hell she is, doesn’t care all that much. 

All she knows is that it’s dark and deserted and there’s a sad little bench in the sidewalk. 

She drops into it, leans the briefcase against her legs so she won’t have to stare at the splattered bloodstains. And then she- 

She _cries._

Ugly heaving sobs that come out of nowhere, torn from her throat, and she’s a hundred percent sure she’s never cried like that before, so freely and sorrowful, all of her mistakes and her wants and her regrets poured into it, unstoppable. 

She cries. 

She cries. 

She cries. 

And then- 

Someone’s sitting next to her and she wants to cry all over again because what kind of idiot is so busy bawling they don’t notice someone creeping up on their space-? 

She turns towards the person, ready to either punch them or kindly ask them to fuck off, but- 

Brown eyes greet her, stupidly familiar. 

Her cries come to an abrupt stop, her breath hitches. 

Diego twists his mouth, lifts up a hand and makes an aborted movement with it, like he wanted to reach for her but thought better of it at the last moment. “Hi. Are you, uh, okay?” 

She wants to hug him, she realizes. 

She wants a hug. 

Is it silly? That she wants a hug? 

Mum never hugged her much. 

But this Diego- 

He isn’t hers. Not quite yet. 

The lighting’s shit but she can see enough to recognize his face is more of a child’s than a man’s, his cheeks too round, his muscles not as toned as they should be. 

It’s him, though. 

And he’s looking at her like he cares, like he just- like he _cares_ , and- 

“My mum just died,” Lila blurts. 

Diego freezes, his eyebrows go up to his forehead. “Oh,” he says, awkwardly, “Shit, that’s, uh- I'm sorry. I’m sorry to hear that.” 

Lila shrugs. 

She’s still feeling- _something_ , something like shame maybe, because she’s _hurting_ , because turns out that woman was a villain all along, a killer, a liar, a cold smirk that had no problem whatsoever spitting out false truths and falsehoods, no problem whatsoever putting a gun in a child’s hands and aiming for her. Lila- 

She wonders what kind of person she would’ve been away from the Handler. 

She wonders if she could grab the briefcase and travel back to the barn, a couple minutes before everything went to shit. She wonders if she could cling to her mother and never let go. 

Diego sits next to her, apparently deciding to let her work through whatever by herself. 

It’s nice, at least. 

Having him so close she could reach out and touch him. 

“My brother died,” Diego says, suddenly, “Two years ago. Almost three, now, actually.” 

Lila looks up at him. 

“Oh,” she says. “Sorry.” 

He shrugs. 

Lila’s heard about that brother. A lot. Both from Diego himself and from the Commission, from several case files explaining how his death was necessary, how his death had to happen, how his death was nothing but another one of those senseless little tragedies that would eventually add up to Vanya Hargreeves snapping and ending the world. 

She used to think of him as collateral damage, unimportant. 

But then, then, in the asylum, Diego- 

Diego would talk, sometimes, when it was just the two of them. Diego would talk and Lila ended up realizing Ben Hargreeves was a person, was Diego’s _brother_ , was loved, and missed, and cherished. 

“I can’t imagine losing a brother,” Lila mumbles, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. 

Diego gives her a timid little smile, heavy with sadness, with leftover grief. “Yeah,” he says. “Wish I couldn’t either,” and then, “But I can’t imagine losing a parent, so-” he shrugs, again. 

“It sucks,” Lila informs him, because it does. 

But does it? 

Should it? 

Is it even allowed to suck when the one she lost wasn’t a parent but a monster, a creature _so_ evil, a creature who never cared whether she lived or died? 

“Your father was shit, wasn’t he?” Lila blurts, registering her own words a split second after they left her mouth. Diego raises an eyebrow, alert all of the sudden, and decides right there and then she hates how _stupid_ and _inattentive_ crying makes her. 

He can’t go around telling people she’s a time-traveler. 

But then she catches sight of Diego’s sleeve and breathes out a sigh of relief, the thing hastily pulled up, his tattoo on full display. 

She gestures meaningfully towards it. “You’re one of those kids from the Umbrella Academy, aren’t you?” 

Diego huffs out, looks away. “Yeah, so?” 

He pulls his sleeve down, balls his hands into fists. 

“So your father was shit,” Lila tells him, matter of factly. That, she knows for a fact, that, any Diego, of any point in the timeline, will always agree with. “What kind of asshole puts a bunch of twelve-year-olds in masks and makes them fight grown men twice their size?” 

Diego huffs out, again, shrugs. 

But there’s a hint of something pleased, in his eyes. 

Lila carries on. “Your father was like- _objectively_ shit, right? That’s just a fact,” and she turns towards him, looks him dead in the eye, “So what if-? So what if he died? What if you got a call right now that he’s dead?” 

Diego watches her, for a second, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, “Look,” he starts, clearly dismissive, “Lady, I- I have classes early tomorrow, and-” 

“No,” Lila says, “No, listen to me, _please._ ” 

Diego freezes, watches quietly, doesn’t move to go away. 

“What if-?” Lila repeats, feeling too much of something she does not want to feel. “What if your father was dead? And he was- and he was the worst person you’ve ever met, and he took _everything_ from you- and I mean _everything_ -? What if-? And what if he was your father, anyway? And you _fucking hated_ him but he- he was your _father_?” 

The Diego she knows hasn’t lived under his father’s roof for over a decade. 

But this Diego-? 

He’s fresh out of the Umbrella Academy. 

He’s fresh out of the Umbrella Academy so maybe he understands, _maybe_ he thinks of his father as just that, a _father_ , the one who raised him and clothed him and fed him, the one who taught him everything he knows and the one who made him into who he is today, and even if he was a shit father, cruel, _merciless_ , maybe Diego- maybe he _understands_. 

Diego looks at her. 

“Well,” he starts, awfully awkwardly, “I, uh- I don’t know,” and then a little huff of laughter, a stupidly _obvious_ attempt at deflecting the question, “My dad’s like a hundred years old, I’m pretty sure he’s just never going to die.” 

Lila- 

Lila _whimpers_. 

It’s the single most pathetic noise she’s ever made in her entire life. 

“Hey, hey, no,” Diego starts, “It’s okay, do-don’t cry,” his eyes are wide open, his expression petrified, “I don’t know what to do when people cry.” 

“I’m not crying!” Lila hisses. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course, you’re not crying.” 

But she’s crying, isn’t she? 

It’s not like it was a couple minutes ago, all loud and unrestrained, but it’s there. She can feel wetness, in her cheeks, and her breath is coming in on short bursts, and there’s an uncomfortable tightness in her heart, and in her throat, and in her soul. 

She’s crying her heart out on a sad little bench in the middle of the night right in front of who she's beginning to understand is the only person who’s ever truly cared about her. 

“I guess I would be upset,” Diego says, suddenly. 

Lila turns to look at him, wondering what the hell he’s talking about now. 

He’s crossed his arms over his chest. He’s looking straight ahead at nothing. 

Diego bites his lip, and maybe he can tell Lila’s a bit lost. “You asked me how I would feel if my Dad died right now, even if he’s an asshole. So, yeah. I think I would be upset.” 

“Oh,” Lila says, quietly. 

Diego nods, very slowly. “But- I mean, I don’t wanna sound like a jerk and say I wouldn’t care that he’s dead, but- but I think would mainly be upset for myself and for siblings. My mom, too. Po- uh, our butler. I’d worry about them.” 

“Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” 

Lila huffs out, wipes most of the mess of tears from her eyes. “Why would you worry about them? If your dad’s such an awful person, aren’t they better off without him?” 

“Well, yeah, _theoretically,_ ” Diego says, “But- I think it would mess us up if it happened right now. I mean, we all recently moved out and it’s not like I’m expecting us all to meet for christmas or whatever, but if Dad died right now I think- I think we’d just never see other again. Ever. Plus, I don’t know what would happen with my mom or my bro- my brother, one of my brothers. He still lives there with Dad. I- I don’t know.” 

Lila bites her cheek, thinks his words over. 

She wonders what it’s like, to have a family beyond the child snatcher who raised you. 

She breathes out, “You’re only talking about the people you love. What about your Dad? Would you-” and she feels cruel, somehow, _devious_ , saying the words she says next, “Would you miss him? Would you miss the man who took you away from your family and turned you into a killer?” 

Diego- 

Doesn’t quite freeze, but does get a certain quality to his movements, butchered, hesitant. 

Lila wonders if anyone’s called him a killer before. 

She never really asked, but she figures he’s probably had a couple sleepless nights thinking over all the blood his daddy made him shed. The Umbrella Academy would execute criminals on the regular. Diego would’ve rather let a president die than murder the killer. 

“Hey,” Diego starts, softly, his eyes big, and wide, and round, earnest, “I think-” and he also looks a little out of place, a little uncomfortable, like maybe he’s always been and always will be allergic to feelings, “I think it’s, uh, okay? To miss people. Even if they’re not great.” 

“Yeah, well. Easy for you to say.” 

Diego watches her, for a second, or two. “You can miss your mom and still hate her guts.” 

Lila breathes out, huffs out, wonders what exactly it says about her, that she feels like breaking into tears all over again. “It’s not that simple.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s- it’s just not, okay?” 

“But it is that simple,” Diego says, with all the certainty in the world, “I mean, uh, this better not be in some gossip magazine tomorrow, but- I kinda miss the Academy? I miss my routine, and goofing around with my siblings, and beating up criminals without getting arrested,” and he smiles, nostalgic, and regretful, “I miss a lot, but still- I would _never_ go back. That place messed me up. I went through some shit I shouldn’t have gone through.” 

“What if you had a time machine?” Lila says on a whim. “And you could go back and make it so that none of that ever happened to you?” 

Diego, to his credit, does seem to consider it for a moment. 

But then- he shakes his head, mumbles, ”My siblings." 

“Of course,” Lila says, because she honestly didn’t expect any less. 

Diego sighs, heavy and theatrical, “I guess what I’m trying to say is- mourn the good things, cling to them, whatever. And say fuck it all to the bad things.” 

And- 

Could she do that? 

The thought seems- _repulsive_ , for more reasons than she can count, and she thinks maybe this Diego would probably not be saying the things he’s saying if he had the full story, because who the hell _mourns_ a woman such as the Handler? 

She’s got a memory, fuzzy around the edges, of her mother, the real one, laying on the floor in a pool of her own blood with her eyes wide open, forever frozen. 

She can’t remember her father. 

She can’t recall another single memory of her mother. 

The Handler raised her. 

The Handler fed her ice-cream whenever she so pleased, and the Handler let her draw on her bedroom’s walls, and the Handler painted her nails whenever she asked before she had the dexterity to do it herself, and the Handler held her through countless nightmares, again, and again, and again, and _again_. 

The Handler is her mother. 

No amount of betrayal and pain is ever going to change that. 

Lila takes a single breath, looks up at Diego. 

He’s the good without the bad. Or- 

Maybe not, because that’s just impossible. But his bad, his stubbornness, and his idiotic ideas and ideals, his willingness to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe- maybe that’s just how a normal person is supposed to look like. 

Maybe Lila can cling to the good, and let go of the bad. 

The Handler is her mother. 

Nothing’s ever going to change that. 

Lila wipes at her cheeks, smiles something weak and fragile. “I can’t believe you’re so smart,” she says, “I would’ve thought being a child star fried your brain.” 

Diego huffs out, rolls his eyes. 

He doesn’t really reply. 

They sit in silence for a while. 

It’s nice. 

It’s companionship. 

Lila feels like they’re back at the asylum, sitting back to back, shoulder to shoulder, haphazardly clinging to each other in any way that they could- sometimes talking, and talking, and talking, laughing, bickering, sometimes doing nothing but sitting there quietly, leaning into each other. 

“Hey, are you gonna be okay?” Diego asks, “Should I call someone for you?” 

Lila shakes her head. “No, that’s- that’s fine.” 

“I don’t think you should be alone right now.” Diego says, softly, so softly. 

And- “I won’t be,” Lila says, a realization. She looks up. She smiles. She’s- _nervous_. She’s sure of herself. “I’m going to see my boyfriend.” 

“He’s going to pick you up?” 

Lila nods, because why not? 

She can’t exactly say she’s going to use a time traveling magic briefcase to meet him. 

Diego nods, too, seeming pleased. “I’ll wait with you.” 

And Lila snorts, “Oh, yeah, no. Not happening.” 

“Wha- Why not?” 

Lila smiles, feral, all teeth, “Well,” she starts, thinking up the lie as she goes, “How do you think he’s to feel when he sees me with a hot piece of arse such as yourself?” 

And it’s- 

Such a dumb thing to say, such blatant deflection- 

But Diego falls into it all the same, and she can see the startled expression on his eyes, the faint pink on his cheeks, can see the way he turns into the fumbling teenager that he is. 

“I’m- I’m not-” 

And doesn’t even finish the sentence. 

Lila laughs, “Besides, didn’t you say you had school tomorrow or something? I’m not gonna be responsible for some kid’s failed education.” Lila can’t actually recall Diego telling her he ever pursued an education beyond what his daddy had to offer. But still. 

Diego looks at her, his movements still stilted and awkward. “I mean, that’s- that’s _tomorrow_.” 

“What are even studying, anyway?” 

“I’m, uh, in the police academy.” 

And- 

_Oh_. 

Yeah, Diego did tell her about that. 

That’s _so_ not gonna work out. 

Lila smiles, almost like a grimace, “Well, you better go now, sleep. We don’t need more shit cops in this godforsaken city.” 

Diego smiles, too, but then he sighs, and he still looks unsure, still looks like he does not want to leave a random woman he just met alone in the middle of the night. 

It’s probably because she cried. 

Diego gets so flustered when there are feelings involved. 

“C’mon,” Lila whines, “Don’t you have a little girlfriend or something? How’s she gonna feel when she finds out you were hanging out with a hot piece of arse such as myself?” 

And Diego- 

Blushes. 

Full on blushes, looks down, scrunches up the fabric of his jeans. “It’s not-” 

“Oh my god,” Lila starts, delighted, “You _do_ have a little girlfriend!” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Diego snaps, “She’s- she’s just-” and he frowns, “It’s complicated, okay? She’s not my girlfriend.” 

Lila looks at him, feels something warm in her chest. 

“You’re adorable.” 

Diego rolls his eyes. 

Lila laughs, “You know what? Fuck education. You call your girlfriend right now and take her out for dinner or something, okay? For me.” 

“We don’t really do that,” Diego says, awkwardly. 

“Well, now you do,” Lila says, feeling fierce, feeling protective, “You grew up a child soldier, locked in a house with no one but your siblings. You need friends, alright? You need someone you can _talk_ to.” 

Diego bites his lip, doesn’t reply. 

“For me,” Lila repeats, “It would mean a lot for me.” 

“I, uh- okay?” 

“Awesome,” Lila says, and stands up, “Now go, _shoo_. I need to see my boyfriend and you need to see your girlfriend.” 

Diego stands up, looks at her, “You sure you’re alright to stay by yourself?” 

“I’m fine, I’m- I’ll be fine, I’m okay,” Lila says, and- 

It’s weird. 

It’s weird, but it’s true. 

She’s going to be just fine. 

Diego nods, “I’m sorry about your mom,” he says, incredibly soft. 

Lila breathes out, “I’m sorry about your brother,” she says, even softer. 

And they look at each other, and they smile, and then Diego’s gone. 

Lila stands there, in an empty street, and she’s tired, and she’s confused, and she’s got all these feelings she doesn’t know what to do with, and she’s _grieving_ , and she’s _angry_ , but- 

She’s going to be just fine. 

She doesn’t feel like crying anymore. 

She grabs the briefcase and goes. 

* 

  1. April 2nd. 



She lands in a deserted hallway, wood panels all around her. 

It’s the Umbrella Academy. 

And- 

There’s a door right in front of her, not shut all the way, and she walks towards it, and she pushes it open- slowly, _so_ slowly. 

And there he is. 

Diego. 

The right Diego. 

_Hers_. 

He’s lying on the bed, and it’s the exact same bed he was lying in when he was five years old and unruffled, and before he looked _tiny_ , swallowed whole by a gigantic bedframe. 

Now he looks ridiculously large, the bed stupidly small, meant for a child. 

Lila laughs, something small, bubbled. 

Diego sits up abruptly, “ _Lila_ ,” he says, and he says it with fucking- _reverence_ or something, like her name is the only thing worth saying. 

Lila loves him. 

She loves him _so_ much. 

Diego stands up carefully, slowly, like if he makes any sudden movements then she’s going to run, and Lila doesn’t _think_ she’s going to run but she appreciates it all the same. 

There’s a question in his eyes. 

_Where the hell were you?_

She shrugs. 

And he just- 

He accepts it. 

He doesn’t pry, doesn’t judge, doesn’t call her out for her disappearing act when he probably needed her most. He just nods, accepts it, moves on. 

He’s happy to see her, she can tell. 

She’s happy too. 

She _loves_ him. 

Diego takes a step forward, and then Lila takes a step forward, and next thing she knows they’re _clinging_ to each other like they know how to do, they’ve got their arms around each other, they’re holding each other close. 

It’s the hug she needed. 

**Author's Note:**

> and they lived happily ever after, the end <3 
> 
> there's no sparrow academy because i said so <3 <3 <3
> 
> follow me on tumblr @myeyesarenotblue


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